


Divvied Up Like Thieves

by Truth



Category: Weiß Kreuz
Genre: AU, M/M, Pirates, Shenanigans, privateers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-03-25
Updated: 2004-03-25
Packaged: 2017-10-14 06:51:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/146567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Truth/pseuds/Truth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tortuga was both better and worse than the stories. There was filth and violence and even pirates, yes. There were also bright colors and laughing voices, interesting items for purchase and information to be gained. Here, the legal rubbed shoulders with the quasi-legal and the downright criminal in one huge, felonious sprawl of ‘live and let live’.</p><p>Or at least ‘always remember to loot the corpse’.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Divvied Up Like Thieves

Tortuga - 1634

**

Ocean breezes, clean air and the crisp sound of water slapping against the hull. There were sailors everywhere, scrubbing, tarring, climbing, hanging laundry, playing games and all enlivened by the sound of laughter and the occasional shout for attention. Haiti was large on the horizon, and before it, the small island shaped like the back of a turtle.

Any minute now, and they’d be able to smell it.

Tortuga was both better and worse than the stories. There was filth and violence and even pirates, yes. There were also bright colors and laughing voices, interesting items for purchase and information to be gained. Here, the legal rubbed shoulders with the quasi-legal and the downright criminal in one huge, felonious sprawl of ‘live and let live’.

Or at least ‘always remember to loot the corpse’.

Schuldig was fond of the place, although he could have stood for it to be slightly less crowded and noisy. He’d known the port would be relatively overrun when he’d decided to put in, the sheer number of ships in the bay telling him that Tortuga was exceptionally busy.

But he’d information to sell, to the right people, and a bounty to collect. His crew needed a chance to let off some steam and so, truthfully, did he. So the ‘Avenging Angel’ had headed for Tortuga, the crew finding themselves forced to drop anchor some little distance from the port itself thanks to the heavy concentration of ships.

First watch having been set, Schuldig quit the ship, small sea chest under one arm. Nine of his crew accompanied him, rowing the longboat steadily toward the docks and the jovial greeting of the harbormaster, hand out as usual. They were halfway across the small bay, rowing as men who can see alcohol and women nearly within their grasp and thus making very good time, when Schuldig found his attention caught by another ship.

She wasn’t quite as large as the ‘Avenging Angel’, although he guessed that she was faster. She was a schooner, dark with recent tarring and far faster than his brigantine… and once a truly beautiful ship. As they passed, he could hear some of the men counting the splintered holes clearly visible along the side and commenting on how high she was riding. The captain must have jettisoned everything he could to keep the cracked and broken places in the hull somehow above the waterline. The main mast had been braced, but even so leaned at a decidedly crippled angle and Schuldig winced involuntarily, wondering how he’d feel if forced to see the ‘Avenging Angel’ in a similar state.

“Pirate,” he murmured.

“Y’think?” The sarcasm came from his second mate, sitting beside him to supervise the oarsmen. “Just look at it. That cannon-fire came from a capital ship. Y’can tell by the spacing. I’m amazed the damn thing managed to limp away a’tall.”

The speculative murmurs of the swiftly rowing crew were suddenly overwhelmed by whistles and cat-calls. Several small row-boats of scantily clad women were making their way across the bay toward the harbor mouth, obviously intent on peddling their wares to the crew of the newly arrived ship.

Schuldig made a face. He hated having their ilk aboard his ship. The women in the small boats were generally too old or broken or diseased to make much of a living in the city. But if it kept the crew aboard where they should be, he could turn a blind eye.

The last thing he needed was to have something happen to his ship.

**

There were taverns in port; riotous places. There were inns and lodgings in quieter parts of town. There were quiet corners where you could meet and speak quietly amid the drunken roistering, bargaining for plundered goods, stolen information, lives and lies….

Schuldig let his men go as soon as the longboat was secured, paying the harbormaster and wondering how many he’d lose this trip. There were always one or two men who decided to search for greener pastures or bluer waters elsewhere. There was also usually at least one fatality. Only the second mate stuck with him as he walked the noisome streets of the dock quarter, heading toward slightly more expensive realms.

Only slightly.

He drew the eye, not just for his bright hair and relative youth, but for the cut of his clothing. His coat was just a little out of fashion, even here, but it fit well. Of good quality, it showed the beginnings of wear - a favored article of clothing. Black, dark blue and slate grey were Schuldig’s colors, and they drew sharp attention to the long, wild hair that was currently kept under control by a hat which was saved from modesty by a set of long plumes, one blue and one grey. A pistol and a sword completed his ensemble; a gentleman’s sword and one he was obviously well-used to wearing.

Schuldig grinned internally at the looks and obvious thoughts directed his way. He knew he made an appealing picture, knew too that a lot of the attention was for someone of his age and apparent respectability being closely tailed by a huge, muscled example of grizzled seaman. Ned was hardly the footman most people would have expected to be tailing a merchant’s son.

It was a tavern that he settled on eventually, one of higher quality than his men had disappeared into. Schuldig wasn’t here for alcohol and companionship, not yet at any rate. He was a professional. The ‘Avenging Angel’ was a privateer and, as such, required frequent repairs and a ready supply of materials for emergency repair. Schuldig had not been lying in wait for Spanish ships this time, however, ransoms and booty to fatten his somewhat slender purse.

No, this had been a run for information. Siphoning vital truths whose value could only be measured by the number of lives they would cost… that was Schuldig’s real business. He was here in Tortuga to meet a buyer, someone who would add substantially to the weight of that small chest before Schuldig returned to his ship.

The second mate peeled off as they entered the ill-lit tavern, making himself at home to one side of the upturned kegs beside the kitchen, giving a gap-toothed smile to the chubby woman serving out the rum and ale to the customers. Schuldig drifted further into the crowded room, searching for a familiar mind.

**

“Tomorrow?” The second mate was not even half as drunk as he appeared, and he scowled fiercely at his young captain as Schuldig dragged him into a dark corner.

“Tomorrow. He wants to check some of the information. Don’t worry, Ned. We’ll get paid.”

Ned did not lose his scowl, heaving an exasperated sigh, but he did not argue. Schuldig was always right about these things, just as he always knew where to find a buyer… or a plump, defenseless Spanish ship. Ned was not happy with the delay, however.

The ‘Avenging Angel’ would be in port for two weeks, time enough for the entire crew to receive leave and for refitting, but their extremely noticeable captain normally did not spend more than a few hours ashore. While Schuldig was a past master at riding a wave of almost insane good luck, always knowing the right person to talk to or to follow, people tended to remember him… particularly in a crowded place such as this.

Schuldig was far too young to be captain of his own ship, a fact that people delighted in pointing out to his crew. Attempts on his life in an effort to take the beautiful brigantine were frequent, particularly in places such as this. The last such attack had resulted in four dead men. Two of them had been Schuldig’s officers and the young captain had ended up with a long, abdominal slash that had required careful stitching. After that, it had been decided that the captain should spend as much time aboard his ship as possible when they were in port.

Schuldig smiled at Ned. “I promise to get a room and stay there. You can stand outside it, if that’ll make you feel better.”

“’N be first target? No. ‘F you’re fool enough to stay here ‘stead of heading back, y’can watch your own damn back.” Ned snorted. “I’ll stay in the bar, though. No sense just wanderin’ off and leavin’ you t’get into mischief.”

The officers of the ‘Avenging Angel’ were all loyal to an extent that others sometimes had trouble understanding. Their youthful captain, with his arrogant air and the strange luck that seemed to follow him, inspired a great deal of both hate and envy… but his crew remained loyal.

Telepathy, like crime, pays.

Clapping Ned on the back, Schuldig turned, ready to buy the man a drink and get himself a room. He froze mid-turn, however, as the hubbub in the room simultaneously dropped a level.

Pirates came in all ages and ranges. They were tall and muscular, stringy and thin, filthy, unintelligent bastards and effete, mincing poseurs. Some were too young or too old to be regular sailors - but there was always something about them that told you not to get too close. Schuldig could feel it from all the way across the room, an unusually strong reaction, even for him.

The door had opened to admit three men, the first approximately Ned’s size, a giant of a man with dark skin and darker teeth. He was grinning broadly as he moved toward the makeshift bar, and his mostly bared torso was covered with scars. Directly on his heels was a second man of more reasonable size. He was remarkably nondescript, the only real distinguishing feature being an enormous, braided beard. Both men were dressed plainly, but cleanly and while Schuldig easily categorized them as ‘dangerous but uninteresting’, it was the third man who had caught the attention of most of the tavern.

White hair, caught back in a short, clubbed tail, a surprisingly youthful face cut by thin scars and marred by the black of an eye-patch, lines of small gold rings in both ears, the complete lack of a ‘sailor’s tan’, a pair of knives strapped to one leg over plain black clothing more suited to a teacher or monk than a sailor, save for the carefully removed sleeves….

Here was the source of that unsettling feeling of danger and scarcely restrained violence.

‘Walk away,’ Schuldig’s common sense hissed to him. ‘You don’t want to attract any attention, not here. Not now.’

Ignoring the internal alarms, Schuldig reached toward the newcomer, eyes alive with curiosity.

Thoughts moving and turning at a rate of speed he’d never seen, impressions of his surroundings slotting neatly into place, sorted for later examination. Determination and anger, focus on an all-important goal, want /need to accomplish his self-imposed mission. A ship, the ‘Falcon’, repairs, re-fitting and a deep, well-leashed anger at the delay. A sudden, sharp interest and Schuldig jerked back to himself, staggering slightly as he caught his balance. He hadn’t been pulled that far into someone else in a long time.

Looking up, he found that the strange man was no longer by the door but talking quietly with one of the men near the door to the rest of the building. His single eye was fixed on Schuldig, however, and the privateer captain had the sudden crawling sensation that, perhaps, he should have listened to his common sense after all.

Glancing away, the new arrival continued his conversation, having apparently dismissed Schuldig from his mind. The privateer captain doubted that, but he was unwilling to touch those quickly moving thoughts again in order to find out. He turned his attention instead to the man with the interestingly braided beard.

Ned waited patiently for Schuldig to finish his ‘thinking’. He and the other officers were used to their youthful captain suddenly turning his attention elsewhere. The result was usually some interesting piece of information or useful idea and they had learned to be patient.

“Pirates,” Schuldig murmured, eyes moving rapidly from one of the men to the other. “That schooner we saw, the ‘Falcon’, is their ship. And he is their captain.”

Ned blinked, not having to ask who ‘he’ was. “Are you certain?”

“Certain enough.” Schuldig frowned. He knew how he’d gotten his own command, how he’d kept it, and it had not been easy. To keep a crew of no less than eighty pirates in line was something that he could do himself, but it would prove difficult.

His brief scan of the pirate captain’s mind had been enlightening, not least because there had been no hint of his name. Most people tended to think about the world almost strictly in relation to themselves. There had been no hint of this here. He’d had to get the man’s name from his first mate, the bearded man at the kegs.

“Farfarello,” he murmured thoughtfully.

Ned blinked again. “Dante? ’S the name of one of his demons, innit?”

“I’m not the one who used to teach,” Schuldig shrugged, eyes narrowing. “I’ll take your word for it. I’m sure it’s an alias.”

“’S a bad omen, tha’s what it is,” Ned offered, shooting a suspicious glance at the apparently oblivious Farfarello. Despite his somewhat stereo-typical appearance, Ned was the sharpest man in the crew. The only reason Schuldig hadn’t made him first mate was that the man had no real skill with people, and handling a crew like that of the ‘Avenging Angel’ took a certain amount of charm.

“Never mind,” Schuldig told him, turning away from the unsettling pirate captain. “I doubt he would be interested in us anyway. We’re not carrying any cargo at the moment.”

“If that schooner belongs to him, it’s not cargo he’s after….”

**

Making himself comfortable in the small room, Schuldig checked the bed for any unexpected visitors. Satisfied that the bed appeared to be vermin free, he sprawled across it, staring up at the ceiling. It was going to be a long, boring evening. Experience told him it would be foolish to allow himself to be distracted while in the middle of a venture which called for him to keep his wits firmly about him - hence no alcohol or companionship. He had an old deck of well-worn cards, but solitaire did not interest him.

Schuldig was a privateer and a spy. Keeping to himself was more a survival tactic than anything else, even if the occasional game of ‘hurry up and wait’ drove him to distraction. He could have dragged Ned up here with him, if only for a partner at a game of cards, but after several months in each other’s company, it would have been criminal to force the man to spend his first evening of liberty entertaining his bored captain.

‘But boredom is the sign of a small mind,’ he admitted to himself, folding his hands behind his head, eyes narrowing. ‘And I have plenty of entertainment at hand.’

Here behind a locked door it would be safe enough to again explore the fascinating mind of the youthful captain of the ‘Falcon’, but Schuldig found himself reluctant to do so. The sheer speed and calculated efficiency was difficult to judge accurately, and he did not want to find himself dragged deeper into the strange man’s mind. The whispers of his common sense were louder now and he decided, for once, to heed them.

After all, he could find most of what he wanted to know in the mind of the man’s first mate. Still staring up at the ceiling, he let his mind drift.

Farfarello had been with the ‘Falcon’ since he was a child; someone’s cabin boy, stolen away to serve a pirate captain who fancied himself in need of a personal servant. The mental images were of a small, almost delicate child with dark red hair and wide eyes. He should have been easy prey for a crew of pirates, but he was quiet, he was careful and he stuck very closely to the captain indeed.

It was this captain who had named him ‘Farfarello’. The first mate no longer remembered what the boy’s given name had been. It had been over a decade since they’d found the boy in his master’s cabin, and no one had really cared what his name had been then.

Farfarello was a demon. His first mate was convinced of it. The slight shadow of their lunatic captain had grown up into something else altogether… and no one could really pin down when it had happened. It was as if the cabin boy had disappeared one night to be replaced by a young man made of muscle and iron, a boy who wanted books taken over by a quick-witted creature who could take the end of the world and find a way to wring a profit from it… and survive.

When it became apparent that the captain would listen to his erstwhile cabin boy before his own officers, there had been an ambush and a fight.

Farfarello lost an eye, received a few scars and suffered a knock on the head that the first mate was convinced had caused the strange change in the color of his hair. The first and second mates, or what was left of them, were buried at sea. When the young man came to, the captain made him first mate. Showing a fine disregard for procedure and protocol, he then backed up the promotion by shooting the first man to protest his decision.

It had taken over a year of nearly constant fighting and watching his back, but by the time it was all over, the boy’s place with the fractious crew had been firmly cemented. When the captain got himself shot six months ago, Farfarello calmly stepped into his place.

Since then, it had been a wild, profitable ride… until last month.

The first mate, Alden, was a bit hazy on the details. He knew that something had happened in Haiti, something that led to trouble. They’d been led into a trap not three weeks later, set upon by two capital ships in an effort to expunge the pirates from the waves.

The ‘Falcon’ had taken heavy damage and heavier casualties in the fight which had followed, but she had limped away. Everything had been jettisoned save the emergency stash which would, hopefully, pay for their repairs. There had been no looting, no searching for captives to ransom…. They had sunk the first ship outright, a desperate struggle to keep the cannons firing and cripple their opponent badly enough that the ‘Falcon’s’ crew might have at least a slim chance against their second opponent.

The second fight had been very ugly indeed. They’d been boarded and it had gone to hand to hand. Schuldig’s witness had only been third mate at the time, stepping almost literally into a dead man’s shoes to support his captain in the desperate struggle to stay alive. Of a crew of almost 80 men, Farfarello had been reduced to 52 and only half of those in any shape to sail, his ship barely afloat and his entire stolen cargo lost.

His fury had been almost incandescent, not that Alden used that particular word, but the mental images were vivid, to say the least. Farfarello had slaughtered the surviving enemy officers. Long white hair loose and liberally streaked with blood, he had torn them apart. Standing amidst the carnage, chest heaving, single eye burning with hate, he had taken a good long look at the remnants of his crew.

He had told them that he knew who had done this to them - and that he would destroy them utterly.

Schuldig believed it.

Unfortunately, Alden had no idea what had sparked the initial incident, much less who Farfarello blamed for the death and disabling of almost half his crew. The pirates of the ‘Falcon’ were currently on the prowl for sailors to add to their raiding crew as they waited for the last of supplies for their repairs to be gathered and Farfarello was playing his cards very close to his chest. This appeared to be a habit with the ‘Falcon’s’ captain, enough so that Alden had long since ceased wondering about it.

Schuldig pulled his attention back to himself, frowning. There were too many parallels here for his own comfort. Not that he was a pirate, although the difference was at best one of technicalities. But he knew how he kept his ship and crew under control… and he had seen no trace of real awareness of his own nature in Farfarello’s mind, which argued against the pirate being something like him.

But there was definitely something about him. Even several rooms away, Schuldig could feel the other man’s presence, a strange, intense focus of energy and thought that cried out to be explored.

‘Lead me not unto temptation,’ he told himself firmly. Trying to unravel the workings of that particular mind would be, at the least, a very bad idea. He couldn’t shake the feeling that Farfarello had somehow felt what he had done down in the tavern and, remembering the look in that single eye, knew that there was very little chance of the incident being dismissed or forgotten.

Schuldig rolled over onto his stomach, staring sightlessly at his coat and plumed hat, placed carefully on the room’s single stool, the skirts of the coat mostly concealing the small sea chest that had not left his side since he had departed his ship. It was mostly empty, containing only a few sheets of paper, carefully crossed and crisscrossed with dates, times, names and other notations. If all went well, Ned would be carrying it back to the ‘Avenging Angel’ full of rather heavier things and their refit would be well underway.

Something in the back of his mind still nagged however, the murmuring of his oft-ignored common sense telling him that the evening was far from over and that there was something terribly important he’d overlooked. For all that he’d decided not to pursue his sudden interest in a certain youthful pirate… he had no control over Farfarello’s interest in him.

The quiet scratching at the door came as no surprise, oddly, and Schuldig rose and raised the latch to find himself the recipient of a level, burning stare - far more disconcerting at close range. The sheer intensity of the man was evident even in his voice, soft and lightly blurred by a liquid accent - words thrown into sharp relief by the determination behind them.

“You have something that I want.”

Schuldig stood in the doorway, frowning. “You seem awfully certain of that.”

“I make it my business to be certain, even as yours is to buy and sell. I am here to buy.”

Frown deepening, Schuldig shook his head. “If that wreck in the harbor is any indication, you can’t afford what I have to sell.”

Farfarello’s lips tightened. “If your price is honest, I will meet it.”

Resisting the urge to bush the pirate’s mind and ignoring the screaming of his common sense, Schuldig stepped away from the door. “Come in, then, and we’ll discuss it.”

He watched the young pirate enter the room with no few misgivings and the faintest stirrings of anger. Schuldig had survived this long by being very careful with his information and who he sold it to. Nobody liked spies, and his secondary employment as a gatherer of intelligence was supposed to be a heavily guarded secret.

How had a common pirate, although he already knew that nothing about this man was ‘common’, found out exactly what his real trade was? More worrisome, how did he know that Schuldig had the specific piece of information that he was after?

Farfarello crossed the room, glancing out the single tiny window before turning to lean against the wall, staring again at Schuldig. The one-eyed regard was almost a physical weight and Schuldig turned away to draw the door closed and again fix the latch.

“Why are you so certain that I have what you need?” Schuldig crossed to stand opposite his uninvited guest, just outside the other man’s reach. “What are you after?”

“A ship,” Farfarello showed his teeth in what might have been called a smile by someone who had not just seen him look at a set of captives with that same curve to his lips.

“Would you care to be more specific?” Schuldig asked politely.

“I’m looking for the sailing time and route of the ‘Cinco Llagas’ and a confirmed list of her passengers.”

Schuldig hoped that his expression didn’t give away the sudden sinking feeling in his stomach. The sinking was combined with a sudden sharp anger as he realized that someone, somewhere, had been talking.

At least he hoped that was the case, the alternative didn’t bear thinking about.

“And you expect me to provide you with that information?” Schuldig frowned thoughtfully. “Assuming that I had it, the price would be very high.”

“You have it,” Farfarello assured him softly. “And price is currently no object.”

The burning in that single eye was bright, and Schuldig could feel his anger rising. “I’m not so certain that information is for sale.”

“Everything is for sale.” The pirate told him, fingers idly tracing the hilt of one of the knives strapped to his leg. “The only question is that of price.”

“Are you threatening me?” Schuldig was relatively certain that he could knock the other man out without damage to himself, but he did not care to allow things to deteriorate to that level. If he had to fight his way out of a situation, even mentally, he was definitely slipping.

“Threatening you?” Farfarello laughed. “No. Merely making a point. Everyone has their price.”

Schuldig again felt the sheer weight of that one-eyed gaze as Farfarello looked at him, seemingly digging deep inside for the information he needed. After a minute that seemed to drag on for hours, the pirate spoke again.

“Name your price. I will meet it.”

Schuldig’s eyebrows shot upward. The dark sincerity in that statement was strong enough that he could almost taste it in the air. He took a step back and subjected Farfarello to a long, appraising once-over.

The young pirate was almost his own height, the difference being that of no more than an inch or two. His frame was more heavily muscled, although the lack of a tan was puzzling. The white hair appeared to be natural, surprisingly. Something about him….

“Take off the eye-patch.” Schuldig blinked, surprised at himself and not sure exactly where the comment had come from.

Farfarello gave him a strange look, but his hand went obligingly to his face and pulled the patch away. Schuldig wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but the eye beneath the patch was still present, although the lid, iris and pupil were twisted and shot through with white. With the absence of the patch, however, he realized what it was that had been bothering him about the pirate’s appearance from the first.

Farfarello’s face was in perfect proportion and far younger than it had any right to be. Schuldig was twenty-two, although he passed for older. He had thought Farfarello to be around his own apparent age, somewhere in his late twenties - an age still shockingly young to captain a ship, much less an entire crew of pirates.

“How old are you?” Schuldig demanded, revising his estimate of the other man’s age sharply downward. ‘And what are you?’

“Twenty.” The corner of Farfarello’s mouth quirked upward, the younger man apparently following Schuldig’s train of thought with ease.

He was… impossible, dangerously unique in his youth and profession. Not a mind-reader, not exactly. Something else… and Schuldig’s common sense was again screaming at him to simply show the man the door. Something more primal was murmuring to him as well, however, telling him that if he let this man out of his sight he would lose a chance to know just what he was.

On the surface of it all, the calm, amused look on that perfect, ruined face and the subtly restrained energy of that muscled body….

“You.” Schuldig’s voice was abrupt. “That is my price. I want you.”

Farfarello stared at him for a very long moment, the tension between them suddenly almost an audible hum. “You want… me?” His amused tone betrayed his feelings as to Schuldig’s seriousness, or lack thereof.

“I want you in my bed,” Schuldig clarified calmly, frustration and confusion suddenly coalescing into a sharp certainty. “I want to have you. I want to feel you spread out beneath my hands and I want to hear you beg.”

The pirate continued to gaze at him, face suddenly expressionless as if Schuldig’s demanded price were clearly visible to them both.

Fine white hair unbound, spreading across the coverlet of the narrow bed. Long-fingers clenched in the thin bedding as tanned hands ran across pale flesh. Faint marks left by teeth and nails in a trail down the muscled torso and a faint, stifled moan….

“And for this,” a flick of his hands indicating his own body, “you will give me what I want?” Farfarello was taking him seriously now, lips no longer curving upward in that mockery of a smile. “Not gold or goods - just this?”

“Just that.” Schuldig waited, the certainty settling into a knot somewhere in his gut. The desire to understand the young pirate had somehow formed itself into a driving need. He wanted that coiled energy where he could touch and control it. It was an almost desperate attempt to form some sort of connection… or to verify that one already existed.

Schuldig had never wanted anything quite so badly, and he no longer cared as to the ‘why’.

Farfarello’s hand again traced the hilt of one of his knives as he weighed the possibilities. With a sudden wry twist of his lips, he unstrapped the twin sheathes, letting them fall to the floor, even as he moved toward the bed. “I said I would meet your price and instead of gold or gems or silks…. You’re mad.”

Normally, Schuldig would have agreed with him. Now, he followed the other man with his eyes, caring only about what was to come. Farfarello stopped beside the bed, looking back over his shoulder, still wearing that expression of wry surprise.

“Well?”

Schuldig moved slowly across the room, reaching out to turn the younger man to face him, still slightly amazed at his easy acquiescence. It made sense, considering the driving intensity that radiated from the man. Farfarello would do literally anything at this point to achieve his goal and Schuldig’s price was much less than it could have been.

But this young man kept thirty sailors and an additional raiding crew of fifty cut-throat pirates firmly under his heel, and Schuldig found the aftermath of the recent battle again before his eyes.

Neatly clubbed hair pulled loose, bloody streaks across his face and throat, bare arms slashed with red and black to his elbows and that single eye practically glowing with rage and bloodlust…

Again, Farfarello seemed to follow his thoughts without ever touching his mind. Slender white fingers went to the high-collared jacket, swiftly undoing the buttons and revealing equally white skin beneath. “Wishing you’d asked for gold?”

“No,” was the firm response, voice tight and slightly hoarse. Schuldig reached out, brushing Farfarello’s hands away, swiftly working the buttons free and pulling the sleeveless coat off muscled shoulders.

Farfarello was moving before the heavy fabric hit the floor, tugging Schuldig’s neck cloth away before pulling the shirt off over his head. They fell to the narrow bed in a tangle of limbs, Schuldig’s hands tearing impatiently at the buttons of Farfarello’s black pants and more than one ended up being ripped away entirely.

Clothing was stripped away with a few deft wriggles, Schuldig’s pants fairing far better than those of his companion. He pushed away from Farfarello, staring down at the naked body sprawled across the bed. The pirate responded by stretching, extending his arms far above his head and tensing his muscles. The rest of his body was as perfectly proportioned as his face, and Schuldig wanted it, wanted to feel it beneath him, wanted to hear that soft, even voice moan, cry out… beg.

He had to touch… hands gliding across the muscles and feeling again the coiled energy thinly contained within. His own hands, dark against Farfarello’s white skin, tracing across long arms and smooth skin to close over the already erect cock. He stroked it, once, before closing his fingers around the base, tangling in the white curls and leaning forward to press his lips to the edge of Farfarello’s jaw.

Farfarello’s hips jerked slightly and he turned his head away from the hungry mouth pressed against his skin. Schuldig could feel his heart rate increasing at the contact… and realized that the man beneath him had wound his fingers into the bedding.

‘Faithful to the letter of the agreement,’ Schuldig thought with some amusement. ‘Going to simply lie there and let me do whatever I want? Well, what I want is a little more complicated than that.’

Pulling away, sliding his fingers down the long legs, Schuldig settled back on his heels. “Look at me.”

Turning his head, Farfarello opened his eyes, revealing again the slash that had cost him half his eyesight and a gleaming interest.

Schuldig licked his lips slowly and smiled. He reached out, winding his fingers between Farfarello’s and pulling one hand free. Blue eyes stayed fixed on gold as he pressed the captive hand to the white skin of Farfarello’s abdomen. He slid their joined hands slowly upward, across the chest, dragging their fingers across one erect nipple and hearing the sharp intake of breath at the sensation.

Still smiling, Schuldig released the hand. “I want to watch you….”

Farfarello stayed very still for a moment, staring at the possessive anticipation obvious in Schuldig’s face. Slowly, he unclenched his other hand, turning his head and reaching upward to twist the band out of the white hair. Farfarello relaxed against the bed then, moving the hand on his chest in circles that spiraled slowly outward. Fingers closed over a nipple, twisting and rolling it as the other hand dragged blunt nails down his side.

Giving a low, pleased growl, Schuldig watched avidly as the naked pirate closed a hand over his leaking cock, rolling his thumb across the head. Slow, sure strokes as golden eyes closed and Farfarello gave a soft moan.

‘Playing for his audience….’ Schuldig was finding himself more intrigued with the younger man with every movement of the muscled body. Farfarello would do anything to gain what he desired, including playing the whore with an easy carnality that whispered this was not the first time he’d used his body to get what he wanted.

The focus was still there, the carefully ‘prisoned energy that told Schuldig that the man in his bed was playing a game with him even now - giving him the appearance, but not the reality. Schuldig would not be satisfied with anything less, but for now was content to play by Farfarello’s rules. For all its apparent falsity, the blatant display on the bed was no less effective - and he appreciated it for what it was.

‘But I will touch what you are before the night is over….’

A slow roll of his hips and Farfarello’s body again had Schuldig’s undivided attention. No hesitation or any show of uncertainty as the younger man worked his arousal slowly, enough movement and activity to keep Schuldig riveted but also enough to keep himself from ending things prematurely.

Again, Schuldig had to touch. It was like a compulsion, hands tracing the impossibly pale skin, feeling burning warmth and again that restless, driving energy. He pulled Farfarello’s hands away, replacing them with his own as he leaned over the pirate, moving up the pale body slowly as he explored it with his hands and mouth. Farfarello arched willingly beneath him, responding easily to the stimulation.

Schuldig could still feel the iron control that was keeping him from what he wanted, still hiding the core of what the pirate really was. He pressed his body fully against Farfarello’s, hands tangling in the white hair as he caught thin lips with his own.

Show me….

Slight hesitation for the first time, but insistent probing opened Farfarello’s mouth to his and Schuldig instantly deepened the kiss. Hands ceased their movement as Schuldig concentrated on exploring the possibilities here as thoroughly as the rest. Not exactly a gentle kiss, it grew rapidly more heated. Schuldig could sense actual feeling beneath the response even as Farfarello’s hands buried themselves in his hair, pursuing the movement of mouth and tongue. Somewhere far inside, removed from the devouring kiss, Schuldig smiled and reached again, brushing Farfarello’s mind and tasting the whirl of thought and feeling.

Purpose, determination, focused rage, want and Schuldig pushed the churning feelings aside, letting himself be carried deeper even as the hands in his hair tightened. Caution was brushed aside in favor of consuming desire with the realization that possession of Farfarello’s body wasn’t enough. Pain, and Schuldig was brought to himself as Farfarello jerked brutally on the double handful of bright hair. He levered himself away, supported above the younger man by his hands. Farfarello allowed the movement, but did not release his grip in the slightest.

“Don’t even dream of it,” the pirate hissed, obvious anger radiating from his suddenly tensed body. “Our deal gives you no right….”

Schuldig smiled at him, despite the burning pain in his scalp, and Farfarello’s eyes widened slightly at the cold, familiar expression. “I said I wanted you… and I don’t recall any conditions as to what rights I do or do not have. If I only wanted a body I could have had anyone in that tavern. I want you, all of you, and that is what you agreed to.”

  
A charged silence stretched between them, Farfarello staring up at him with a bright golden fury. Schuldig had, again, that sense of being seen right through and the pirate suddenly relaxed, hands sliding bonelessly through the bright hair to fall against the bed. Burning eyes closed and when they opened again, the emotion had drained away entirely.

“You can’t just pick and choose. You will take what I give you or nothing at all.”

Schuldig’s eyes widened slightly. “What are you?”

“Nothing like you,” Farfarello told him softly, a slight gleam returning to his eyes. “Nothing at all….”

But it wasn’t true.

Schuldig found himself the recipient of a sudden, enveloping rush of information and feeling, arms giving way and dropping his full weight onto the man beneath him as he struggled to cope.

Farfarello really wasn’t like Schuldig. He couldn’t read other people’s minds. He didn’t have to. The pirate’s mind really was unique, and it couldn’t, shouldn’t work the way that it did. Farfarello just knew things. He’d known that Schuldig could give him what he needed… but not how or why. He’d known that the ‘Avenging Angel’ would be in Tortuga and had been waiting for its captain for over a week. He knew that the instrument of his revenge was going to be aboard a certain ship, and careful research had bought him the name of the ship - the ‘Cinco Llagas’.

The ‘Falcon’ was a pirate vessel in truth, but she was more than that. She was the life and soul of her young captain - or at least he believed that she was. She was his responsibility and his freedom, and while he was a harsh taskmaster, he took care of his crew - both the regular seamen who comprised her normal crew and the larger group of raiders that comprised the remainder. Farfarello had an endless rage bottled up inside, vengeance chained and waiting for its proper target.

Farfarello had felt Schuldig’s attempt to read his mind in the tavern. He had recognized someone else who didn’t quite fit with the normal run of humanity. It had been curiosity as much as need which had brought him to Schuldig’s doorstep. A few hours in a bed with the redheaded privateer had been less a price to pay and more an opportunity to find out more…. Familiarity with a subject or topic apparently aided Farfarello’s strange habit of acquiring knowledge and Schuldig interested him greatly.

The coiled, restless tension was a part of him, something he thought he’d always had, and it was part and parcel of the rest. Farfarello was as unpredictable as the sea he called home, his lack of concern with his identity tied strongly into his feelings for his ship and the sea. Farfarello saw himself as the soul that drove the body that others called the ‘Falcon’ and her crew and he would do literally anything to punish those who had injured her.

It took several minutes for Schuldig to pull himself back together, conscious of the still, muscled body beneath his own. When he finally levered himself again to a position where he could make eye contact with Farfarello, the pirate’s eyes were again closed.

“Satisfied?”

“Not yet.” Schuldig regarded the younger man thoughtfully. He was no closer to truly understanding the mind of the man in his bed, but he had at least some of the answers he’d wanted. The desire to possess was stronger than ever, but it wasn’t Schuldig’s habit to covet things truly beyond his reach. He had Farfarello in his bed, and that would have to be enough.

Another kiss, this one slower and more lingering. Farfarello responded almost mechanically as Schuldig’s hand dropped to his softening cock. Breaking the kiss, Schuldig laughed softly. “I still want you. I still want to hear you beg….”

Golden eyes stared back at him with a look of lazy challenge even as Farfarello’s cock again stiffened beneath his fingers. “Make me.”

“I will.” Schuldig bit him lightly on the edge of his jaw before turning his attentions lower, hand never ceasing its steady stroking.

Farfarello was through being passive, even as a pretense, and his own hands were busy exploring Schuldig’s body as the redhead licked and nibbled a path down his torso. It wasn’t until Schuldig reached his goal that he realized he’d forgotten something rather important.

“My coat,” Farfarello told him calmly, completely uncaring that no word or question had been spoken aloud.

Schuldig ceased his activities to retrieve the garment, reflecting that Farfarello’s strange ability was certainly useful. “You knew that this was going to happen?” he asked wryly, retrieving a small, flat flask from one of the pockets.

“Not necessarily with you….”

Abandoning any further attempt at subtlety, Schuldig returned his full attention to the man in his bed, determined to achieve his goal. The contents of the flask turned out to be some variety of oil, and he poured a little into his palm and covered his hands before again placing them on Farfarello’s skin. Warm lips and a nimble tongue were applied to Farfarello’s again fully-erect cock, as slick fingers slid around the base. Schuldig’s other hand slid slowly downward, finding its goal and sliding slowly around his target.

Farfarello’s hands were suddenly again entangled in his hair, but Schuldig concentrated on the flesh beneath his fingers and against his tongue, working to wring a reaction from the pirate. Pressing a finger into the pale body resulted in a sharp gasp and tightening of muscle. Slowly, Schuldig worked against the tension, mouth moving in concert with the hand on Farfarello’s cock, keeping no steady rhythm. Hot, wet suction, steady, careful pressure and by the time Schuldig added a second finger, Farfarello was gasping for breath, twisting beneath his deliberate attentions.

Schuldig was very good at what he did, although a great deal of that was due to knowledge of exactly what his partner wanted and the best way to give it to them. He did not rely on his ability to read minds when taking someone to his bed, however, usually finding more immediate things to concentrate on.

He focused on the soft, panting breaths of the man on the bed, combining with his own breathing and the faint wet sounds of his mouth and fingers. The taste of the flesh in his mouth, the sharp flavor that caused his own breathing to quicken and the scent of the skin so close to his own. The feel of that pale skin, flushing as his hands and fingers worked wickedly against it. The clenching of the hands now firmly buried in his hair and, finally, a faint despairing moan….

Pulling away, Schuldig pressed a wet kiss to the inside of the pirate’s thigh, reaching up to disentangle the hands from his hair. Farfarello struggled briefly to retain his grip, but Schuldig worked his fingers loose with the ease of long practice. He looked down that the splayed figure on the bed, meeting a gaze that had lost a great deal of its sharp focus.

“I want to hear you beg,” he reminded the younger man, his own voice not exactly steady. There were things he wanted more… much more at this exact moment, but to have something so wild close enough to touch, to have. To force the acknowledgment of a connection that he was now certain of.

“Damn you.” Words gasped without heat as pale hands twisted in his grasp, wrapping around his wrists and dragging him sharply down against damp, heated skin. Mouths came together in a kiss that held frustration and hunger. Eventually breaking the kiss, Farfarello stared up at him for a long moment, breathing even more ragged. “Please.”

The words, ‘You bastard’ were as clear as if they’d actually been spoken aloud, but Schuldig didn’t care. Fumbling fingers retrieved the flask and he was given barely time to make use of the contents before Farfarello lost patience with him entirely. What was meant to be a smooth, slow movement was destroyed when Farfarello reached out and dragged them roughly together, tilting his hips with the movement.

A shocked gasp broke from Schuldig’s lips as he attempted to adjust, and Farfarello gave him a smile that was all sharp edges. “Please,” he repeated. It was in no way a request and Schuldig swallowed, feeling heat sweep through him again. So much for savoring the moment….

Harsh thrusts into a body that received them gladly, arching to meet them, hands dragging demandingly at him and the occasional low moan, almost a growl. Schuldig did not last long at the reckless pace demanded from him, back arching as he shuddered his way to release. Collapsing against the muscled body beneath him to discover Farfarello still hard and gasping, he was unsurprised to be pushed unceremoniously to one side, equally unsurprised at the slight wince Farfarello gave at the movement.

‘Power games to the last,’ Schuldig complained inwardly, sliding his arms around Farfarello as he sat up and letting his own hand rest against pale, swiftly moving fingers.

It only took an additional minute or two, and Schuldig let his hand ride against Farfarello’s, fingers becoming slippery and coated. Schuldig pulled the younger man back down into the bed, pressing against him from behind and wrapping his arms around the pirate. Bringing his sticky hand up over Farfarello’s shoulder, he deliberately licked it clean.

Farfarello gave a muffled laugh before relaxing into the embrace, and Schuldig fell asleep there, face pressed into the side of the pirate’s neck.

**

Schuldig was woken by a heavy pounding on the door and a familiar voice shouting his name. Fighting to keep his eyelids actually open, he fumbled from the bed and lifted the latch on the door to reveal Ned, eyes somewhat wild.

Paying no heed to his captain’s state of complete undress, the second mate pushed past him, heading for the room’s narrow window. “Have you not seen it, man?”

Schuldig padded after him, scrubbing at his eyes. “Seen what?”

“The ‘Avenging Angel’! She’s under sail and heading away from the island!”

Shoving Ned to one side, a neat trick for a man of his comparative size and mass, Schuldig stared out the window, suddenly wide awake. His ship, his beautiful ship, was sailing away. His mouth opened and closed several times as he fought for words, but no sound emerged.

“What happened?” Ned demanded angrily. “How will we catch her?”

“We can’t catch her,” Schuldig replied dully, mind still not fully awake as he watched his life sail away from him. “There isn’t a ship in port fast enough….”

“That pirate would be, if she weren’t such a wreck,” Ned snarled, driving a fist into the wall and leaving a sizeable dent.

“The pirate….” Schuldig’s eyes widened and he whirled. There was no sign of Farfarello, unsurprisingly. His own coat and hat still lay over the stool and he dove for them, tossing the coat to one side and dragging the chest out. Fingers trembling, he opened it and spilled the precious contents onto the floor. “No….”

The papers containing the information he had come to sell were intact. The maps, neat rolls of carefully preserved charting were also present. But the papers, the prized papers of ownership and captaincy of the ‘Avenging Angel’ were gone.

”What are you after?”

“A ship.”

“Damn him.”

“And for this you will give me what I want?”

“Damn him to hell!”

Ned took a sharp step back from his captain. Naked or no, the aura of enraged menace was enough to make even the much larger man cautious. “What happened?”

“Farfarello ‘happened’,” Schuldig snarled, slamming the chest closed and gathering his clothing, pulling the garments on as quickly as he could. “He’s stolen my ship, may he rot in hell, and I want to know how he did it.”

It was several hours before the entire story came to light and Schuldig found himself standing on the deck of the battered ‘Falcon’ staring at the slowing waking forms of his own crew.

“The women.” His first mate told him groggily. Chang had the constitution of an ox and it showed. He’d been the first to show signs of regaining consciousness, even before Ned had applied a full bucket of sea water. The Chinaman had been left in sole charge of the crew and the ship and it was his neck that Schuldig would stretch for what had happened here.

“The women?” Schuldig scowled, unable to follow Chang’s train of thought through the thick fog of drugs still in the man’s system. “The boat-girls?”

“Younger than usual. Prettier too.” Chang let his eyes slide closed again, wincing at the bright morning light. “Two of them were in the galley at one point. I’m guessing that’s how they got to the food.”

Ned had a comment on that, although at a level of obscenity that Schuldig had to admire, even in his own state of fury.

“Drugged and off-loaded,” Schuldig observed, staring around at the men on deck. “I should be thankful that he didn’t just dump the lot of you overboard to drown. Almost forty men, overpowered by a handful of women.”

“A few women and a very clever man,” Ned growled. “He was waiting for us. This can’t have been a coincidence.”

‘No coincidence at all,’ Schuldig thought, staring around at the wreck of his new ship. Farfarello had left his own ship’s papers with Chang, oiled case tucked beneath the man’s arm. ‘He wanted my ship… but he wasn’t lying about the ‘Cingo Llagas’, either.’

“To make this thing sea-worthy is going to take every cent of our profit,” Ned snapped, kicking at Chang.

The first mate rolled out of the way with the ease of ingrained habit, despite his headache and closed eyes. “Where are we?”

“That schooner with all the lovely holes in her,” Schuldig informed him. “Welcome to the ‘Falcon’, men. She’s to be our new home.”

“You’d best be makin’ a very bad joke,” Ned warned. “This isn’t any sort of privateer.”

“No,” Schuldig agreed, a dark gleam in his eye. “But she’s not going to be ours for long. Farfarello will be back for her. He doesn’t want the ‘Angel’, she’s just the means to an end. He’s after something else and he needed her to get it. This ship is his life, and he wouldn’t have left her for me if he didn’t think I’d take proper care of her while he was gone.”

Ned and Chang stared at him with varying degrees of confusion and outright horror, although neither of them asked their youthful captain how he’d come by this rather astonishing piece of information.

“You don’t seriously mean for us to stay on this… this….” Words failed Chang.

Ned was less restrained. “We’re goin’ to blow our hard earned money on this floating heap of lumber?”

“We need a ship,” Schuldig told them, iron determination balancing the anger in his eyes. “And with a few repairs, the ‘Falcon’ will be beautiful again. Don’t worry about the ‘Angel’. Farfarello will find us.”

‘And when he does, I’ll be waiting….’


End file.
